[ Tension bubbles in his stomach and he hates it. Hates feeling nervous, weak. He remembers this feeling when the first 'performance' reviews came in with Father... how she scolded him to be better. To be worthy of the House. He remembers feeling this way stepping on stage, with Lynette at his side... unsure if the crowd would give them a second glance.

Two orphans, to lesser forms to the plight of Fontaine's own desperation for entertainment. ]

Your Grace. [ He repeats through grit teeth, swallowing down his own anger. There's nothing to be angry for. ...Right? Wriothesley is ignorant, in a bubble under the sea from the things he and his siblings have gone through.

He backs off but the rephrase hurts even more. It takes him a good minute to speak – legs crossed and leaning back. ]

... She saved Lynette when I couldn't. Kept men from touching her, ensured they'd never sully any other person against their will. [ He isn't apologetic about how he speaks of the dead. ] Gave us protection, care, a reason to not hate the world. Two orphans were worthy enough... to finally have a home. One built in trust, in loyalty, with food in hungry bellies every night.

[ That was long ago, however. ]

I've never doubted her.

[ He lies, it's what he does best. ]